


if you love me, come clean

by OddKid42



Category: The Marbury Lens Series - Andrew Smith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming, brief homophobic language, character divergence in that Jack is a bit more self-aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddKid42/pseuds/OddKid42
Summary: But once I hit him and he hit back, I couldn’t stop until I was screaming at him with his wrists pinned into the dirt.“Why are you a Hunter, Conner? Which one of us turned you into that? Because if I created Marbury, if it is within myself, then why do I imagine you killing me?”





	if you love me, come clean

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration from Andrew Smith on blog post from June 2011: “First, yes… Jack is reliable[…] Jack keeps going back to Marbury because of that exact and precise simplicity: It may be hell, but it’s an easy hell to figure out for him — definitely NOT like here.  
> Conner’s the crazy one.”  
> Title from Flatsound song

It wasn’t surprising. In a way, I had known that Con was altering how he thought of himself, and I guess me to an extent, so he could pretend that it wasn’t happening. I’m not sure what exactly “it” was for him. Did he realize that he cared for me more than a friend, and it scared him? When did he start lobbing homophobic insults towards me? It had started slow, I think, until it colored our interactions with each other.  


I should have called him out on it before all of this started. The insults but also before Freddie interrupted my life.  


I should have gone to the police that night rather than let Conner kill Freddie.  


I only realized how Conner saw himself when I was in Marbury.  


He was monstrous, in the actual meaning of the word. He had all of the gore of the other Hunters. All of the brutality.  


I could still recognize him. I could recognize him anywhere. He was my best friend.  


The worst part, maybe not the true worst part but the worst part for me, was how he talked about it afterwards. How he remembered but was thrilled with the experience. How he was amazed at how good it felt, mindlessly fucking and killing. How he detachedly looked at me like I was an object in the room and said, “And you were there.”  


He couldn’t get his own head out of his ass and realize how he was killing people I cared about, trying to kill me, by being a Hunter. He wanted to do it again. He craved it more than I did, but it was different. I needed Marbury because I didn’t have to think about the real world when I was there. I could see who wanted to kill me. I could take care of myself and Ben and Griffin. It was cathartic.  


Conner wanted to go back because it was a power rush.  


But I stayed. I stayed until past the point of easy return, when I had told Seth’s story and started dating Sophia. I had sex with her only so I could share the room with Conner, and it will be something that I can never make up to her for.  


But I didn’t give him the glasses.  


When we had our silent run, when we kept pushing each other to go faster for longer, I thought it would be enough to vent frustration.  


He pushed me when I wouldn’t give the glasses to him, so I finally hit him. But once I hit him and he hit back, I couldn’t stop until I was screaming at him with his wrists pinned into the dirt.  


“Why are you a Hunter, Conner? Which one of us turned you into that?”  


His cheek was swelling, and he was still trying to jerk his wrists out of my grip but looked at me confused. “What?”  


“Did you do that, Conner? Did killing Freddie Horvath do that?”  


Conner tried to hush me and searched for anyone who might overhear, but I was beyond caring now.  


“Because if I created Marbury, if it is within myself, then why do I imagine you killing me?”  


Conner almost looked scared, but that isn’t true because he never gets scared. “I don’t know, Jack!”  


“Yes you do!” I screamed back. “Yes, you do because you are trying to kill me in Marbury! Why do you want to go back?”  


Conner seemed like he was starting to think about what I was asking, like I had caught him off guard.  


I asked quieter, “Why are you trying to kill me?”  


“I- I’m not.”  


“Why are you a Hunter in Marbury?”  


“I don’t know, Jack!”  


“Stop lying!” I growled which isn’t like me. I don’t get angry at Conner. I don’t yell at him. It is Freddie Horvath’s fault. It’s my own fault.  


Conner stared at me stunned. Water hit his face, and I realized that I had actually started crying.  


“Conner, please tell me.”  


For half a moment, a two second span, I think he is going to answer. Then something shifted in his face.  


“Jack,” There are depths of history in the tone. “You’re acting like a faggot. Get off of me.”  
  


The circle line of the London Underground arrives every three minutes. From either direction, you can reach where you need to go eventually. A train from Kings Crossing to Edinburgh leaves every thirty minutes except for an hour gap between 12:00 to 13:00 for lunch.  


It is easy to run away when you live in a metropolized city in a small country. Trains don’t charge for carry-on bags. I didn’t leave him the glasses but left him a letter.  


I ordered an Airbnb within twenty minutes of the coast. I took a day trip, paid in cash, to the peat bogs and waited for the tour group to move ahead of me, feigning difficulties with a disposable camera.  


I squatted on the ground, bent over, closed my eyes, and quickly shoved the glasses as far as I could reach them into the tar. I pretended that I had fallen forward after losing my balance. It was technically littering, but hopefully the mud will block out the lens and buy anyone who wants them a couple hundred years before they find them. My stupid sock, the one ruined from my ankles reopening, was still around them.  


I sat at the coast and thought about what I wanted to do next. Where I could go. What I could do with some high school education and a tattered will to live.  


The stones crunch next to me, and I cannot even pretend to be surprised when Conner sits down. I don’t look at him. If I look at him, I’ll fall in love with him again.  


I think he is waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, he sighs. I know how the conversation will go from that.  


“I read the letter.”  


_No shit. It would have been dumb of you if you didn’t._  


“‘Don’t come after me unless you are willing to stop pretending.’ That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”  


_And yet here you are._  


I don’t say anything.  


He is annoyed, “What did you do to the glasses, Jack?” He doesn’t wait long for me to answer. “Jack. Where are the glasses?”  


_Why do I love him?_ But I know.  


In the end, despite all of the words and bluster, he is still the golden haired boy in the sun.  


He is still the most consistent person in my life. Even when he is coming back to hurt me.  


I say quietly, “You knew where I’d go.”  


I can hear the wheels turning in his head. He thinks that if he follows my conversation that I will give him the glasses.  


Jack is predictable, but so is Conner.  


“I knew you would be somewhere with a coast, and you didn’t take your passport.” He waits, then adds, “I also called your grandparents since you paid with a credit card. You wouldn’t make a good criminal.” He laughs shortly like it is a joke.  


I was dressed in prisoners clothes the day that I arrived in Marbury. It was a reminder that Freddie Horvath held me captive and that I never escaped mentally.  


Conner is tired of waiting. He checks that the nearest walker is too far away to hear before he grips my shirt. “Where are the glasses?”  


Seth was killed because he defended his girlfriend. I wish that my relationships could be so simple. Birth parents abandoning me, adoptive parents loving me rather than tolerating me, and being in love with someone who loved me back.  


“I destroyed them. They’re gone.”  


Conner punches me, and I don’t hit him back.  


“Where are they?”  


I don’t repeat myself anymore. I’m tired of being so predictable when it comes to him.  


“Jack!” He sounds so angry and hurt at me.  


_Join the fucking club, Con._  


He calms himself down, which is a miracle. I thought he would just keep hitting me until they magically appeared. I don’t move from where I am lying on my back. The sky is becoming overcast in gray.  
California would be sunny by now. But then again, California never has real weather. Probably why Conner liked it so much.  


“Did you really destroy them?”  


Stages of grief: denial  


“You don’t have it in you to get rid of them. I bet their rolled up in your sock somewhere.” He sounds triumphant like he has me figured out.  


_Sometimes I break my own patterns, Con. Can always surprise yourself._  


Conner’s voice has become angrier, harsher in his insistence that he is right. “No, you need Marbury, Jack. You need something to make yourself feel bad. You’re- what’s the word?”  


_Masochistic?_  


“You get off on being treated like shit,” he revises. “You probably even liked Freddie kidnapping you. I mean, you keep bringing it up and tying up your feet.”  


I don’t think I could have prepared for that blow even lying on my back expecting Conner to pull something. I make myself inhale and exhale, but my eyes still tear up from the words.  


I turn my head and look at him. Tears run into my ear and pool against my nose.  


His blonde hair is ruffled in the wind, and he is underdressed for how chilled it is in a light jacket. If the sky breaks, he is going to become soaked.  


He glances away from my face and frowns. I make him uncomfortable. I made him uncomfortable.  


I wonder what it would take for him to give up on the Marbury lens. I can’t threaten him. I don’t think he would stop for anything that I can do. I don't think that I could bring myself to give up on him no matter where I go. The ocean's depths feel more appealing than being around him any longer.  


“Conner.” I can’t make myself speak louder than a near whisper. He glances back to me, but it is a strained expression. “Why did you say that?”  


I’m not condemning him; I want to understand him. He says defensively anyway, “I didn’t mean it. You were just lying there. You do keep zip-tying your ankles, and I kept telling you it’s weird and needs to stop.”  


Conner is horrible. He keeps avoiding questions.  


“Tell me one thing, just one thing with complete honesty, and I will tell you where the glasses are.”  


He lights up like a fucking Christmas tree but tries to repress it and nods. It’s sad that the happiest I make him involves Marbury. Past Jack would have been assaulted ages ago if he had known.  


“When you joke about my sexuality is it because you know I am attracted to you?”  


Conner looks startled and nearly glances away. I can see him trying to weigh the answer with the offer. He has the decency to look me in the eyes when he says, “I know, knew.”  


I reflect back on my memories, and it makes its own sense. “Why did you make them?”  


He does look at the ocean before answering this time and has to take a moment to gather himself. “I didn’t want you to be. I didn’t want you to stop being my friend either.”  


I couldn’t see the logic in it. “Why? You have other friends.”  


He doesn’t answer for a moment. When he looks back, he is more resolved. “I answered. Now keep your promise.”  


I look at him one last time. Body like a Hindu god. What a farce of a morality though. I sit up and fish out the apartment keys. “The glasses are in the knife drawer of the kitchen,” I lie.  


Conner gets up and starts walking away from the beach. I don’t know why I warn him.  


“I won’t be here when you come back.”  


He gives me a dismissive look but stops after a few more steps and studies my face. “Where are you going?”  


I don’t answer. If he goes, I go. If he stays, maybe there is a chance that things can get better between us.  


Conner glances at the street and back to me. He says with one of his cautiously “no homo” tones, “You’re my best friend, Jack.”  


_That’s it. I’ve had enough._ I snap, “Well, you aren’t mine. You consistently hurt me. You don’t listen to me. I’ve been suicidal since before Freddie Horvath and especially afterwards. I left so I wouldn’t hurt you, but you came back for the fucking glasses.” I sit up and wipe my eyes. “They’re destroyed, Con. You can’t hurt anyone else or yourself.”  


A range of expressions crosses his face, but he asks hesitantly, “How long have you been suicidal?”  


Now he cares. I feel like crying, but I don’t want to. They are tears of anger at myself, at Conner, at everything that has happened. “I don’t know. I just have.”  


Conner lifts his hand, doesn’t know what to do with it, and carefully walks towards me like I will bolt if he approaches too quickly.  


“Are you-?” But he stops. “You should talk. I don’t, I don’t think I will say the right thing.”  


_I don’t know what to say._ “I don’t know what to say, Con. I’m not doing well, but you are doing worse with Marbury. I don’t know why though.”  


“Because I- you were hurt when I was supposed to protect you. You left that night because of me. It’s my fault.”  


I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. Guilt, guilt for everyone about everything every day everywhere we go. “Con, it is Freddie’s fault for being a sick fuck. You were being your usual self.”  


Conner winces. “That was my usual self?”  


“Yeah.” It’s almost funny. Almost, but not enough years have passed for Conner’s lack of self-awareness to come across as anything but idiotic for him and painful for me.  


“Conner, if you know please be honest in answering, okay?” I try one last time. “Why do you think you are a Hunter in Marbury?”  


Conner’s expression becomes pained again, and he looks at the waves, at the ground, rather than at me. I think that he will come up with a bullshit answer, but he says, “I love you too, Jack, but I don’t want to be a victim like you.”  


It’s a minefield all around that answer. I ignore the first part because it is a lie. “Do you see me as a victim?”  


Conner looks up confused. “Do you not see yourself as a victim? Freddie, the guy on the airplane, and Henry Hewitt all targeted you because you are obviously gay.”  


Am I? Have I missed my own body language by being in my head? I think that I am expected to view myself as a victim, but I don’t.  


“I think I just interpret the world now as being full of evil people with some assholes scattered in.” I look at him pointedly. “I wouldn’t wish any part of this on anyone, but I can at least look back on Marbury and say that I survived it.”  


My will to live is tattered, but it is still there. I’m proud of myself for it. I am digging my fingernails into sanity and keeping myself in the present.  


I look back at Conner kindly. “But you don’t love me, Con. If you loved me, you would treat me better. You wouldn’t hate me if you did. We both know that.”  


I offer my hand and let him pull me to my feet. I keep his hand clasped in mine, “But if you apologize, we can be friends again.”  


Conner squeezes my hand back after a moment and meets my eyes initially before glancing away. “Jack Whitmore, I am sorry for- I don’t know how to apologize. I’m sorry for everything that I have said in the past, all the ways that I have hurt you intentionally or not. I’m sorry for...I’m sorry for letting things get so bad. I promise that I will try to do better.”  


I don’t say anything.  


“I will become a better person. I don’t know. I’ll drop the glasses. If you destroyed them, then they are gone. Uh, what else? I guess, do you accept my apology?”  


“No.” It isn’t hard to think about. It isn’t a great apology, but he is at least trying. “If you keep your promise and become a better person, I will start to forgive you though.”  


Conner nods, but I still don’t let go of his hand.  


I asked doubtfully, “Did you really say that you love me?” Now that the moment had passed, I was questioning myself.  


Conner flushes red but nods awkwardly.  


“You bastard.” I genuinely cannot tell if I am angry or humored. “Do you know how much angst you could have saved me from by telling me sooner?” Conner doesn’t know what to say when I finally release his hand.  


I trudge up the beach and call without looking back, “I still have four days on the rental if you want to stay with me. It is too cold for regular surfing, but I was considering wind surfing.”  


After a moment, Conner follows behind. “That would be nice.”  


I grit my teeth because Jack hates appearing weak or asking for help, but Conner is enough motivation for me to follow through. “When we get back to school, we are both going to therapy. Not a shitty therapist though. A good one, who doesn’t fuck around about stuff. We don’t have to say anything we don’t want to, but we can’t keep ignoring shit until it boils over.”  


I look back down on him from higher on the beach. “Alright, Conner?”  


Conner has a quiet look on his face, but it’s good. I can see the old Conner there. He smiles a bit. “Alright, Jack.”


End file.
